


Dandelion Souls

by WakingToADream



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Family Issues, Frisk Needs A Hug, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Help, I'm Sorry, My take on Underfell, Other, Sad, Slow Burn, Underfell Flowey, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, did i say underfell i mean underFEEL, everyone is sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8908327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakingToADream/pseuds/WakingToADream
Summary: You still remember her. Her smile, slightly sad as it was. Those pale, pastel summer dresses she simply adored, all flower hats and soft curls.  It was on quiet rainy days when you remembered those snippets of peace. Those strange and small forgotten memories nestled out of sight, drenched in a warm sepia filter that nothing bad could ever touch. Promises of a bright future and a loving mother. You could only ever compare it to a warm blanket just out of the dryer, soft and comfortably toasty. But then it turns cold and sour.... and you're suddenly aware of what you lack. Even worse, that you'll never have it again. It was just a memory to remember. And sometimes you wish you could forget her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "The first time we lose our innocence  
> is when we are told that  
> dandelions are not flowers,  
> but weeds,  
> and that they are not to be loved,  
> but destroyed."

The climb is nothing more than a blur.

You vaguely notice the wind stinging your hands and open patches of skin but soon even those had became numb to the sharp cold of autumn. Your breath disappears in frozen puffs, lips chapped and cracked. Twigs and underbrush crunch loudly underfoot, animals scattering long before you have the chance to see them. You wade through fallen leaves, their colors still brilliant in the dying light. The golden hour, when everyone rushes to take pictures of nature. You dully remember your mother telling you that, years ago. The thought leaves a bitter taste it your mouth.

Your body seizes up in a full body shiver as you tuck your hands under your armpits. You glance up at the sky and it rumbles in warning back down at you,churning angrily. Only a faint, mute light filters through the near skeletal trees, pieces of shredded light shifting with the icy breeze. You usually enjoy the natural colors, the strange and startling changes of autumn. But you can’t bring yourself to care about it at the moment. Not the leaves, not the light, none of it. You don’t care about any of it.

A pang of sorrow hits you and the weight of the situation seems to drop square between your shoulder blades. Your feet feel sluggish and heavy as they trek the mountain side but the effort gives you something else to focus on, if only for a moment. You have a sudden urge to turn your head back, just to check. Just to see if…

But you know you would no longer be able to see the bus station from where you are. You don’t remember when you started walking but there is absolutely no turning back now. Not when you were so close to…

Close to what? To your death?

You try to desperately to press down the self doubt that keeps threatening to boil over, that small voice of reason that tugs at the edge of your thoughts urging you back down. Back to the station.

What if they were coming back?

**It had been two days.**

Maybe something happened to them?

**That's no excuse.**

They wouldn't just leave you at that station, they…

**They what? They love you? They love you enough to dump you, to abandon you?**

_“She’s much too young to have a child…”_

_“That man is no good for her!”_

_“...not after that car accident…”_

_“... never good enough for him…”_

_“...and that poor child…”_

_“... and the needles! You wouldn’t believe…”_

_“...is a mess. All a huge mess…”_

The voices of so many others scramble your thoughts, a cloying and heavy cacophony of unbearable words. The yelling, _the screaming-_

Your step slows to a stiff waddle. Hot tears trail down your cheeks and into the neck of your worn sweater. Why did it matter?

**It didn't.**

**_It doesn't._ **

You clench your fists in determination.You'll make it to the top, and that's all the matters. Lost is a better label than dead. A strange itch presented itself in your mind, to get to the top of the mountain. You’re not sure when it started but the thought was there, a door opened only a crack. A door that you fully intend to open. After all, everyone knows the rumors about this mountain, how people seem to disappear without a trace. And you want to disappear. You will your way through a particularly heavy tide of leaves and feel the ground begin to level out. Good. Now you'll just-

But your train of thought crashes as you scream, your foot twisting sharply to the right from a misstep. You flail blindly in an attempt to regain your balance again but you stumble, some unseen thing giving your sweater a sharp tug. Unsteady, you lurch sideways and suddenly find yourself falling, slipping past the leaves, past the ground, and past the world above.


End file.
